


The New Guy

by Hrive1



Category: Star Wars: A New Dawn - John Jackson Miller, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Banter, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, F/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, mention of slavery, mention of trafficking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-03 11:56:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6609793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hrive1/pseuds/Hrive1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picks up where <em>A New Dawn</em> leaves off, as Hera and Kanan get used to sharing a ship.  The plan is to follow their relationship as it progresses, and maybe show some moments and conversations we haven't gotten a chance to see yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... in which Kanan helps out.

Hera leaned back from the console and reclined slightly in her cockpit seat, looking out and up at space. Out here, out of sensor range of any hyperlane, with most of the power systems off, it was easier to imagine the nothingness of the black. At times like this she could physically _feel_ her insignificance, surrounded above and below, forward and behind, by the emptiness of space. Just a bit of transparisteel between her and the hundreds of light-years of empty space between the Ghost and the nearest settlement.

She glanced down at the weapons array; the nose turret was currently running the recalibration routine. She could feel it move slightly every once in a while. The nav computer was working some longer-term routes. Out here in deep space was the best place to lie low for a while after the goings on around Gorse. It was also a good place to meet with her contacts.

"Bwuh bwudda muah muah muah," said Chopper from behind her.

Hera had thought Chopper was in low-power mode. Mildly surprised, she swiveled in her chair and glanced over at the screen Chopper had indicated. There, in the middle of the camera view, was Kanan's backside sticking out of an engine access hatch in the hold, his legs hanging down beneath. One of Hera's brows rose as she frowned slightly. Chopper was right; Kanan should _not_ be in there. What was he doing? Didn't look like he was moving -- not his legs, anyway.

"Stay here," Hera told Chopper firmly. It hadn't escaped her notice that Chopper had been keeping a close photoreceptor on their new crew member. If she didn't know better, she'd say the droid was jealous. She slid down the ladder to the landing, and then down the next ladder to the floor of the hold. Making her way aft, she was greeted by the same sight the camera had shown her: Kanan's ass protruding from a hatch. She'd seen worse human asses, she noted, somewhat against her will.

"Enjoying the view?" he said, his muffled voice floating back from the hatch.

She angrily shifted her eyes from his backside to a wall. She was already a little peeved to see him waist-deep into the inner workings of her ship, and then there was his constant, artless flirting, if you could even call it that. Could he just turn it off for one second? . . . But she was the mature one here, and this was her ship. She released her clenched teeth, and in another moment she had her captain face back on again. She ignored his comment.

"Can I help you find something?" she asked, trying her best to sound merely helpful.

"Nope, got everything under control," he said.

"May I ask what you are doing?" she said, keeping herself _firmly_ under control.

"I'm just doing what you asked," he replied reasonably. "I'm cleaning the engine hatches."

"I never asked you to ...” She thought for a moment, then reconsidered. “Well, I guess I said that if you wanted something to do until the rendezvous, you could clean the access hatches, yes, or the hold ... but you don't need to be in there ..." Finally she sighed, one hand on her hip. "Could you please come out of there so I can talk to your face?"

"Aww, everybody says this is my best side," he drawled, and she knew that he had that _stupid_ grin on his face. She was about to yank him out by the belt, but realized he was complying with her request. He backed out of the hatch and turned around. Sure enough, he was grinning like he'd said something _hilarious_. Everything was a joke to this guy. He looked down at her, seemed to read something in her face, and his features fell. _Oh_ , she thought. She was maybe looking a little stern again.

"Look," he explained, "I wanted to be doing _something_ , and you said to ... well, the hatches were clean already, everything looked in order, so I thought I'd take a peek inside ... and I found some work to do."

"Are you saying I keep a dirty ship?" she fired back.

"What? No! I mean ... " his brows knitted together, and he started again, in a formal tone. "To be honest Captain, inside the hatch here was not up to the usual standards of cleanliness I have observed on your ship."

She realized she was clenching her teeth again.

"And I saw you had some Neoprex,” he continued, “so I was just wiping down the conduit and checking for damage. You know the diagnostic doesn't always catch things in their earliest stages, and a hairline fracture in the conduit could make for ..."

"I know what happens when a plasma conduit springs a leak, thank you very much," she said, stepping toward the hatch and peering in. He stepped out of her way, hands up at shoulder level, his palms facing her in surrender, with a Neoprex-smelling rag in his right hand.

She poked around for a few moments. "Ok, I'm impressed," she said, her voice softening. He simply watched her, his good-natured face having returned. Her fingers ran over the wiring and along the conduit.

"I wasn't trying to impress you," he said. "I was just trying to do something nice for you...r ship."

She pulled back from the hatch and looked up at him. Their eyes met and he quickly glanced into the hatch instead, away from her. He was being nice, she noticed, and made a note to encourage it. "Well, thanks," she said. "But next time make sure you let me know. If I'd engaged the sub-light engines with you in there ..."

He chuckled. "I can be pretty fast when I need to be. Anyway, that astromech of yours seems a little misanthropic, but he wouldn't let you incinerate me in there ... I don't think," he added, with a sideways glance.

"Oh. You noticed he's been watching you."

"I'd watch me, too."

Hera didn't have time to figure out if he was flirting again, or if he meant that in a more serious way, because they were interrupted by a beep over the comms. She heard Chopper in her headphones, advising her of a ship leaving hyperspace in their vicinity. "Is it who we're expecting?" she said into the comm. She nodded to Chopper's affirmative, and looked back at Kanan, who was only hearing one half of the conversation, with a brow raised.

"Time to seal 'em up now," she said, gesturing to the hatch. "As soon as we receive a transmission from this vessel, we'll be on our way." She didn't wait for a response, but turned, jogged to the ladder, and then ascended. Kanan watched her go while closing the hatch behind him. When she was out of sight, he turned and made sure it was sealed and latched, and then followed her, more slowly.

 


	2. Day Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... in which Kanan and Hera discuss an elephant in the room -- but not the one you might be thinking about. Also angst.

"Almost another rotation? We're not doing anything until then?" Kanan said, frustrated.

"Chopper could run through schematics of the Ghost with you," smirked Hera.

"Blur bwhapada bhwap bop," said Chopper sourly.

 "The feeling's mutual, buddy," said Kanan, annoyed.

 "Wait ...” That got her attention; Hera turned in her chair to look at Kanan on her right. “You can understand him?"

He was sitting in the co-pilot's chair, silhouetted against the twirling tunnel of hyperspace flowing by. She wasn't entirely happy about the idea of him being there, but it would've looked childish not to let him sit in the front when they were in the cockpit together. As it turned out, he was incredibly respectful of her ship, which was a nice surprise.

Chopper had stayed in the cockpit most of the time since they picked up Kanan, monitoring the new crew member's actions on the cameras. Most of the things Chopper had vocalized in the past three days had been directly to Hera, or over the comm to her headphones only, so Kanan hadn't heard Chopper directly. Given the derisive comments and somewhat murderous threats that Chopper had been muttering the past couple days, that was probably a good thing. Chopper was an acquired taste.

"'Course I understand him! You know, it's a little damaging to my fragile self-esteem that you are always so amazed to find out I know anything," he said. He feigned some petulance, but he felt quite the opposite on the inside. He could tell that understanding binary bumped him up a couple points in her estimation.

"Not a common skill, is all . . " she responded, a brow raised, looking into his eyes to see if they would give anything away. They didn't. For once, he didn't have much to add, so she said, "So, not much to do until 2100 hours. I would suggest getting some rest, since we'll be on the mission for about twelve hours. But I'll let you to decide how you want to prepare. I'll meet you in the common room then for briefing." She got up from her seat, and made some last-minute checks to the cockpit.

 "Chopper, reroute communications to my cabin until then," she said, and Chopper blatted a quick assent. A part of her didn't want to leave Kanan by himself in _her_ cockpit, but he didn't seem to be interested in going anywhere. Perhaps if she started aft, he'd get the picture.

 "Wait, what?" he said, as if he were surprised that she was leaving the room.

 "What's wrong?" she asked. She thought her instructions had been pretty clear.

 "I don't even know where we're going."

 "I'll fill you in on all of that at the briefing."

 "But what's the plan? What's the mission?"  
  
"I'll tell you at the briefing, I said."

 "I don't get a preview?" He was trying to keep his voice light-hearted, but it was obvious from the look on his face that he was having trouble understanding this strange withholding of information.

 "Not just yet. I'm sure you can understand why I'd want to keep intel to myself as long as possible."

 "Because you don't trust me?"

 "It has nothing to do with you or me; it's simple security."

 He was quiet again.

 "I'm going to my cabin," she said, and turned aft again.

 "And what should I do for thirteen hours?" he said after her.

 "I don't know! Was someone entertaining you every minute on Gorse?"

 "No, but I didn't have to be sober for any of it, either."

 She turned back toward him again. This was an issue that had been in the back of her mind, anyway. "Is this something we need to talk about? Do you have a problem?"

 "Do I have a problem?" He was starting to get testy, now. "You mean besides having my friend crushed to death, buried alive, and drawing his last breath in front of me? Besides barely escaping that mess with my life after being knocked around by a psychopathic metal freak? And losing Lal and Gord in the same day, too? I'd say it's been nothing _but_ problems lately."

 "That's not what I meant," she said, leveling her glance down at him from the doorway with fire in her eyes. "Look, you've had a rough couple of days. I know, because I was there too. And you're mourning. I know what you're going through,” she said as her upper lip twitched. “I'm not actually sure _you_ knowthat you're going through it; maybe we can talk about it sometime. But right now, I am specifically asking if you have an alcohol problem that is going to interfere with your work as a crew member."

 He'd never thought about it like that. He supposed he _was_ mourning. And he was definitely used to mourning with more booze around. Maybe he'd never felt protected enough to truly mourn. And here he was ... safe. With one of the most capable people he'd ever met. For years, he'd always had a bottle handy to deal with times like this, and now he didn't.

 "Kanan? Kanaaaan Jaaaarrus?” she said in a sing-songy voice. “If that _is_ your name ..."

 He blinked, and looked back at Hera. Her face was determined, her eyes sharp, but not angry.

 "Kanan?" she said again, insistently, but softly. "I'm going to need an answer to that one. All I want is just an honest answer, to this _one_ question: do you have an alcohol problem?"

 And then something happened. Her eyes softened slightly, looking into his, and her eyes said it was all right if he did have flaws. Even if he wasn't right for the Ghost, she wouldn't hold it against him. He was hit by the full force of her strength, her heart, those green eyes, that voice. Every single thing about her. And in that moment, he ached to tell her everything, because what could it matter? He longed to tell her about Caleb, about his Master, the Clone Wars, about the Purge, about how lost he had been, how he would always have to be on the run, and why. _Everything_. But then another realization followed behind: his discipline had become lax; he was losing control; he had to stay focused. There was a question. He needed to parry it.

 "Uh ... nnno," he ended up stammering out. "I ... I don't think so," he qualified. "I haven't tried staying sober for a long time … But I will," he said before she could respond. "I'm stubborn enough when I put my mind to something..." He had a source of strength that maybe she had guessed at, but that he could never openly talk about. But he couldn't turn his back on it anymore. Everything about this Hera woman told him that he didn't have to run anymore.

 He had learned that he had a tendency to try to replace his Master, to find someone to follow. Hera did not want to be his master; she saw the principles of the Code and she wanted his help. In recent years, he had just been looking for someone that could help him get a job with some thrills and allow him to stay buzzed. That wasn't going to work here. For her sake, he was going to have to go back to having a little self-respect. Trouble is, he'd never figured out how to do that without the structure of the Order.

 He stared down at the floor as all this went through his head. Then he felt her clap him on the shoulder a couple times with her gloved hand, like an old buddy, and then she went out, followed by Chopper. The cockpit doors slid shut.

 Then, in the starlit quiet, in the black that he had avoided for so long, so many years, the tears rolled down his cheeks. For Okadiah, for Lal, for Gord, even that idiot Skelly. And then for the deeper wounds: his Master, the Order. Caleb. He didn't choke or sob, but the tears kept rolling, one by one.

 Some moments later his thoughts returned, and it slowly dawned on him that his tears were not for sorrow. He was no stranger to loss and death, although the recent deaths still bore heavily on his mind, of course. No, the tears were because of something else that he couldn't quite put his finger on―something to do with Hera. Something about her gave him a new way to see things. This captain had taken a chance on him. She had invited him into her home, knowing nothing about him, for no material gain. Clearly she hoped he would help her, but she just as clearly had no interest in using him. It was an offer, and the choice was his. And that was beautiful. He teared up again. It had been that long since he'd had this feeling, whatever it was.

 He had probably only been alone for a couple minutes. He patted his cheeks dry on his sleeve and turned toward the hallway. As the door opened, he was greeted by a string of invective from Chopper, who had clearly been lurking just outside the door, and was now blaming _both_ of the organics for his delay in important data backup operations. He angrily drove over Kanan's foot on his way back into the cockpit, over to the terminal by the ladder.

 “Ow! What the kriff was that for?”

 “Breep bo doop grak!” continued Chopper as he plugged in.

 “Think I might need to have a talk with the captain about you,” Kanan countered.

 “Wah bwha baha pup pup” the droid answered.

 “I don't know what I ever did you you,” Kanan said, leaving the room. The droid had the last 'word,' but it was cut off by the doors closing. Still, it wasn't lost on him that even that psychotic a-mech had given him some time alone. Either he did it of his own accord (unlikely), or Hera had asked Chopper to wait until Kanan came out.

 The hallway was empty, lights low, and Kanan went to his cabin. He disassembled part of his bunk, reached under it, and pulled out a small bag. Out of that he took a meticulously-made metal cube. He took the bag, from which came some metal clinking, and replaced it under the bunk. After, he reassembled the mattress portion of the bunk. Then he sat down on the bed, held the cube in the palm of one hand, and closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Gondalsqueen for her beta and all of her encouragement!


	3. Day Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... in which they discuss Hera's cooking

The first day he'd come on board, during the initial tour, Hera had waved a gloved hand in the direction of the galley, and said he was welcome to the food in there, now that he was part of the crew.

Later, she gave him some time to settle in. That was when he had found a reasonable hiding place for his lightsaber and holocron. Of course it's the first place anyone would look, but at least his valuables were not out in the open.

He had headed to the galley, then, to check on his options. The galley had a water sink, which was nice, standard heating and cooling units, and a fire range. Then he opened the starboard cabinet. The shelves were nearly filled with an assortment of rations. He opened the next cabinet to the right. Same. The next. Same! The only food in the whole galley was in the form of rations: Q-Rations; K-18 Rations; NSFS Rations; Gleb Rations; ration bars, cartons, packs, and pills. Many had the Republic symbol on them, but a few had Imperial markings. Others were just generic rations. In a drawer under the counter there were a few plates and utensils that looked like they had seen some use. But the few pots and pans she had were stacked as tightly and efficiently as possible, and were on the top shelf of one of the cabinets, out of easy reach even for Kanan.

He remembered wondering at the time if maybe Hera had a galley in her own cabin, and just prepared all of her own food in there. But now that it had been two weeks (and two weeks on nothing but rations!) he knew that she did not. She ate the same as he did, when he saw her eat. And she wasn't the type to hoard real food for herself only. He figured she was the opposite, if anything.

So today, he decided to mention it. They were in orbit around Sharlissia, where a Star Destroyer had parked itself. They were floating around one of Sharlissia's moons, hopefully only registering on Imperial scanners as a floating piece of space junk. Hera was in the cockpit, making sure all Imperial activity was logged. It was basically a stakeout; she and Chopper were constantly reconfiguring the Ghost's passive sensors to make sure that they didn't miss anything, since of course all Imperial transmissions were scrambled and encrypted, and all of _their_ ships were trying to evade sensors, as well. Clearly, Hera was more skilled than the Imperial operators, because she had gotten a lot of information in the past two days, and so far the Ghost hadn't been shot out of space for spying.

He was “upstairs,” in the staging area for the Phantom, learning via the datapad how to do the regular maintenance on the seals there. It was time for a little break, though, and he headed down to the galley.

“Hey Captain, can I get you anything to eat?” he said over the comm, as he grabbed a ration bar and poured a cup of caff for her. Sometimes, when she was preoccupied, he was afraid the girl went for long stretches without any food at all.

“Sure, can you bring up a ration bar and a caff?”

He was halfway to the cockpit with her food when she answered and he smiled. Yeah, he knew her pretty well already. And he loved having an excuse to go up to the cockpit and see her. He handed the cup and bar to her and sat down in starboard aft seat. Hera was at the other aft seat, checking a screen, and Chopper was at the terminal.

“Muwah meh phwuk mwah,” said Chopper, basically telling Kanan that he was not wanted.

“Good to see you too, buddy,” Kanan replied with a smile, tapping Chopper on top. As far as Kanan was concerned, that was just how the droid said 'hello' to people.

“Say, I was wondering ...” he began, turning back to Hera.

“Uh oh,” said Hera darkly, glancing back at him.

“. . . How would you feel about my cooking for us, sometime?”

Hera seemed convinced this was innocuous enough, and turned back to the screen. “Sure, that'd be great, I guess.”

“Anything you'd prefer?”

“Uh … you can do Imperial Rations. I know we have some.” Something grabbed her attention and she keyed several buttons in rapid succession. He loved that she said “we” –unless of course she meant her and Chopper.

“No, I mean, _cook_ – as in, 'prepare and heat up a mixture of fresh foods,'” he explained.

“Oh. Well, the Imp rations are self-heating. That's why I like them.”

He pursed his lips and tried again. “But I'm saying that, like, for example, I could cut up some tubers and fry them, maybe some insta-bread cheese sandwiches? Or some vegetable soup?”

She paused her work and looked at up at him, and blinked. “Oh, you mean like cantina food?”

“Well, yes … or just, like a home-cooked meal. Did you ever have cooked food as a kid?”

“I guess, sometimes. I didn't make it. It was mostly for the old or weak. Haven't had cheese for a while, though,” she mused.

“Ok, that's a start,” he said, mostly to himself.

“Chopper, those two transports broke off from the rest; do we have any kind of communication between them?” she said, back to business. Chopper grumbled that he was scanning.

“Want a hand?” asked Kanan.

“How are you at working around Imperial spoofing techniques?”

“Uh …,” Kanan faltered, the grin coming back to his face. The grin was kind of his fall-back.

“Might be better if you keep learning all the standard maintenance procedures on the Ghost,” she said briskly, but without malice.

“Yeah, might be better,” he agreed, “you know, for the team.”

If she heard him, she gave no sign. He got up, drank in a long look at her, and then headed back up to the Phantom.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gondalsqueen has beta'd all of this so far, for which I am very thankful.  
> This whole thing started out as a project to write about Kanan and Hera making out all over the ship, but it felt like I needed a little background first ... we'll get there eventually :D


	4. Day Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... in which Kanan is flustered?

Kanan stretched out with the Force, integrating himself, feeling its guidance to help him balance … now a handstand … now up on one hand, holding firmly onto the handrail of a hover sledge. He knew there were cameras in the cargo bay, so his training down here never included any obvious use of his Force powers. Hera was no fool: a few weeks ago, on the Forager, she was about to say the J-word before he shushed her. But since then, she hadn't said a word about it, and he didn't want to do anything that would bring the issue up again, for the safety of both of them. 

Kanan realized he was thinking about Hera again when his body began to wobble. He let his feelings go and maintained his position, in the moment. Then he slowly switched from one arm to the other, keeping balance as he moved.

Only a few days after he'd come on board, he had consulted his holocron for the first time in years. Like everything lately, that probably had a lot to do with Hera, too. He was ashamed at how lax he'd let himself become. Years ago he was disciplined, just like Hera. But since then he had gotten lazy and self-indulgent. It was partially for a good reason: the best disguise for a Jedi was to be the opposite of what the Jedi were known for. But it had become a way of life instead of a disguise. So he began training again. He began to sit in meditation again. And he was trying to get himself back in shape. He did a lot of work in his cabin, but sometimes it was nice to have the larger area of the hold to practice flips, jumps, and stances.

What he hadn't considered was how stupid he'd feel if she ever came down here. Which she was. Now.

His eyes half closed and he worked hard to keep his focus as he heard her come down the ladder. His shirt had fallen down around his shoulders, and he was tempted to right himself immediately. But in the back of his mind, he knew that he was probably...

“Trying to impress me?” she said with a grin as she walked toward him and toward the fuel cells stored against the aft wall. He glanced up at her, trying to act casual. He didn't want to avoid her gaze; that might send the wrong signal … and then, just as she walked by, she gave him a wink.

His concentration crumbled and he was barely able to get safely turned around and back to his feet. He adjusted his shirt and looked after her. She had kept walking and was bent over one of the fuel cells. Had he imagined the wink?

“Was it working?” was his most clever response, probably several seconds late.

“Sorry,” she shrugged, her attention on the fuel cell. “It takes a lot to impress me.” She wiped off the identification tag of the unit with her gloved thumb and peered at it more closely. Then she walked back forward to the ladder. “I've got a friend that could use one of these, so I think we'll do a drop-off. But then we need to liberate a few more.”

“And I'm sure you have an idea about how to do that?”

“I've got some ideas. Want to hear them?”

“I'd love to, but are you sure you can tell me yet? Is it already time for the official mission briefing?” he asked so earnestly that she knew he was being cheeky.

“Ha ha. I get it,” she said sourly, halfway up the ladder. She let go of the ladder with her right hand and turned down and toward him. “Look, I've been trying to be more flexible in our operations, since I noticed that lately you've been trying to be nice.” 

“Oh, you've noticed,” he said cheerfully, grinning up at her.

“So do you have time now?” she asked.

“As a matter of fact I do,” he responded, resisting every urge to say something funny. She wasn't always in the mood for jokes, he'd found.

“All right, meet you in the common room,” she said. She climbed up through the hatch into the cockpit, and Kanan followed after once she was all the way through.


	5. Day Twenty-Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... in which Kanan and Hera share a bathroom.

Kanan spent most of his downtime in the common room when he wasn't sleeping or training, for the simple reason that he had a greater chance of seeing Hera that way. Between the two of them and Chopper, they were able to keep the ship in top-notch shape and still have some free time left over when they were traveling in hyperspace.

Missions that first month were pretty low-key. It seemed to Kanan, anyway, that Hera had been shaken up by the events at Gorse and spent even more time on her reconnaissance. She wasn't quite as tight-lipped about her projects, but she wasn't forthcoming, either. There were usually about twenty-four hours to retool and rest after each time in the field. They were both on watch any time they were in a planet's atmosphere, and she took them back into the black as soon as they were done on any planet. So 'day' and 'night' really didn't have a lot of significance for their routine.

When Hera was ready for a new operation, she'd come to the common room. She'd sit down with Kanan and explain the target, the goal, and the timetable to him using the holo functions of the table. He let her make all the plans. Sometimes she'd ask him for input and she did seem to trust his advice, although she didn't always take it.

They'd made two legitimate freighter runs, transporting fuel cells once and food another. They just took a portion of the cargo for their payment, both times. Kanan did wonder how Hera managed to make the credits to keep the Ghost flying, but he knew that Hera considered that none of his business.

Once Kanan stayed in orbit with the Ghost while Hera went planetside by herself. She came back with a crate of rations and some jogan fruit. He didn't ask.

They frequently made rendezvous in deep space to exchange communications with vessels that Kanan never even got a visual on. Hera took all the transmissions alone in the cockpit or in her cabin, and then they would jump away.

Once, the ship they were meeting attacked them. Evidently they had never met with Hera before, and now that the Ghost had a Force-sensitive gunner in the turret, the attacking ship had no chance, despite being armed twice as well as the Ghost. None of the enemy lasers even glanced the shields due to Hera's skillful maneuvering; even from his wildly-careening platform Kanan calmly shot down the missiles sent against them; and all the while Chopper plugged away at their hull with the tail guns, chortling maniacally. The crumbling enemy ship jumped away just as Hera and Kanan were starting to discuss whether or not to board it.

She'd given him a really firm handshake after that incident, saying “Nice work.” He kept himself from laughing out loud at her formality. After all, he was trying to get on her good side.

In the relatively close quarters of the Ghost, it was inevitable that they would learn a lot about each other in a fairly short time. They shared nothing of their pasts, and Kanan didn't even know if Hera had a last name, but there were some other facts they knew:

One, Hera apparently never left her cabin other than fully and completely dressed, no matter whose watch it was. Kanan thought it a little strange, but never commented. He, on the other hand, was frequently wearing an undershirt and shorts when he wasn't on watch. Hera thought it a little strange, but never commented.

One thing she did comment on:

“Kanan, living with you is like living with a wookie,” she said one day, coming out of the 'fresher with something pinched in her gloved hand, held at arm's length.

“I'm not sure if that's supposed to be an insult to wookies or to me,” said Kanan with a chuckle from his seat at the dejarik table. He regarded her outstretched hand with a raised brow. “Ah. Did you find _a_ hair?”

“It's not the only one I've found,” she said. “Can't you take care of the hair stuff in your cabin?”

“Uh, well … I guess I could make sure I'm always in my cabin when I brush it, but it's gonna fall out from time to time.” He ran a hand over the top of his head, self-consciously.

“It's _falling out_? Is there something wrong with you?”

“No, that's pretty normal. Old hair falls out, new grows in.”

Frowning, she went over to the dejarik board and carefully laid the offending hair on it, in front of where he was sitting. Feeling like he didn't have a lot of choice, he picked it up and held onto it, to make it obvious to her that he would dispose of it properly later.

“You know,” he said, “Since we're talking about the 'fresher . . .”

“Yes?” she said, narrowing her eyes at him, daring him to say anything.

He dared. “Well, uh … There's a switch in there for the ventilator. Sometimes it's a nice gesture to use that for the benefit of … of the other crew members.”

Her eyes went wide, flashing with anger, but the color in her cheeks deepened slightly. She glowered at him for three complete seconds, then pushed up from the table, turned around, and went right back into the 'fresher.

“Would be nice if there weren't grease all over the sink in there, too,” he said, quietly, to no one.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Gondalsqueen for her excellent beta work.


	6. Day Forty-One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... in which Kanan and Hera conduct a raid.

It was a moonless night on Leritor. At the edge of a dusty town, a cloaked figure pushed a loaded hover sled toward the back of a small shuttle. The figure opened the back hatch and began to quickly load two standard crates into the shuttle, making no sound except for the small beeps the crates made when the anti-grav was activated.

Just as the first of the two crates was loaded, an Imperial Stormtrooper came around the corner of a building on patrol. The cloaked figure ducked behind the remaining crate, grabbing a small hand weapon, and peered over the top. Strangely, the trooper quickly began making hand motions indicating that the figure should continue loading the shuttle, ending with a thumbs-up. The cloaked figure did so, warily, and the trooper continued his patrol in the direction of the now empty sled. When the soldier got near the back of the shuttle, he glanced down each of the intersecting streets, slipped a bag off his shoulder, and tossed it into the shuttle. After another quick glance down the streets, the trooper ducked into the back of the shuttle, closing the door behind.

 

* * *

 

“Like taking candy from a youngling,” grinned Kanan as he lifted the stormtrooper helmet off of his head. He had barely closed the door when the shuttle lifted off, and he steadied himself with a hand against one of the crates that filled the small seating area of the Phantom. “I'm afraid candy would've been worth more, though,” he said as he sourly looked over the crates.

“'Empire Go Home'? What the kriff was _that_ about? And why are you dressed like a stormtrooper?” Hera exploded, though she didn't look back.

Suddenly, Kanan realized that Hera was not as pleased with the outcome of this mission as he was. “It seemed like a good slogan,” he said with a shrug.

“You are _so_ frustrating! Where did you even get the spray paint?!” she said through her teeth. “Why can't you ever just _stick to the plan?_ ”

“That _was_ the plan … ow!” he said as his head glanced against the starboard wall. Hera was guiding the Phantom at high speed, mere feet above the ground, rolling the shuttle from side to side to avoid low-altitude obstacles in the pitch-black night. “The plan was to distract the sentries, which I did, and . . . are you just flying like this because you're mad?” he said, slipping out of the way as one of the crates slammed into the wall he was next to just a second before.

“I'm keeping us in the shadow of the terrain,” she explained through her teeth, banking suddenly the other way. The crates slid to the other wall. “I am having to be more careful than I had planned, because _someone_ decided to engage in some petty vandalism instead of completing the mission ....”

“We _did_ complete the mission, and even better than we'd planned.”

“Better _how_? The whole point was that they wouldn't know they'd even been hit.”

“But this way,” he said, dancing around the sliding crates, “I was able to alter the inventory list. Otherwise they would've noticed the crates missing. Now these crates weren't even there to begin with, according to their system.”

Just as the Phantom drew near to the valley in which the Ghost was hidden, Hera leveled out and initiated the docking sequence. She was flying entirely by instruments, since neither ship had its running lights on and there were no lights in this rural area. “Chopper, initiate takeoff as soon as we're docked. Fly direct jump point gamma; I'll be right there.”

The Phantom slid into place, nose forward. As soon as the seals locked, the Ghost lifted off the ground.

Hera was out of the Phantom in moments. She slid down the ladder and quickly made her way to the cockpit. Kanan followed close after, slid down the ladder, clicked over to the forward ladder in his stormtrooper armor, and began climbing up to the turret.

“I have the helm,” Hera said over the comms, and the Ghost tilted upward slightly more.

“In position,” said Kanan from the turret.

“Well, I'm glad the Imps won't miss the crates,” she said, somewhat conciliatory. “But something you may not have considered … there is a naked trooper down there that probably realizes _something_ happened tonight, right?” The dry humor had returned to her voice; Kanan could feel her smirk even over the comms.

“I didn't take his underwear,” Kanan said, and Hera knew he had that _stupid_ grin on his face. She allowed herself a genuine smile. Then a beep from the panel grabbed her attention.

“Sensor contact at point zero five, nine zero klicks, on intercept” she said, her voice going neutral, all business. “Prepare to flip.”

 “Staannnnd by” he said in his drawling version of the same voice, while shifting his weight and tucking his toes under a support just above the floor. Below him, he heard Chopper lock his struts down. “Flip,” he said shortly.

 The Ghost rolled precisely 180 degrees to port. Kanan's top turret was now a belly turret, and he peered through the transparisteel slightly down and to his left.

 “Report visual contact,” Hera said. “Target now bearing point zero four, seven six klicks.”

 “Roger,” replied Kanan, continuing to watch.

 “You know the troopers have to check in, like, every ten minutes,” she said again, in a more conversational tone.

 “Oh, they're on alert, now,” he said, nodding. He hadn't stopped grinning. “Most assuredly.”

 “I know you don't have a head for tactics, Kanan Jarrus, but looking back, do you think it was wise to alert the Imperial base to our presence?”

“ _Your_ plan called for me to distract the sentries,” he protested. “Visual contact,” he said, back in a monotone.

“Don't point the cannon at them,” she said.

Kanan rolled his eyes; he had no intention of doing something that openly hostile. It was just her need to be in control of her ship, he told himself. “They're not after us,” he said dismissively.

“How do you know?” she asked.

“I got a feeling,” he said, cocky.

“A _feeling_ feeling? Or just a feeling?” she pressed.

“I don't think they're after us,” he repeated. He knew what she was angling for. He was not going to give her the surety that he was using the Force. Anyway, it wasn't like he either was, or was not, using the Force. He just knew this other ship was traffic, not an interceptor. Did he know that from experience or through the Force? He couldn't say.

Gradually, Kanan had to hold his legs up by his toes less and less, as they entered microgravity and the ships compensators applied a steady pull in the direction they were used to calling 'down.' Hera's lekku, which had been hanging down toward the roof after she had turned the ship over, had gradually sunk down and now hung back down by her shoulders. Chopper detached his struts, but stayed where he was at his terminal in the cockpit.

The other ship did cross behind their path after a few minutes, headed to some other part of space. Kanan could feel Hera pushing the Ghost less, as she felt more secure. Always trying to save fuel if she could. He kept up his visual scanning.

“Prepare to make the jump to hyperspace,” she announced after a few entire minutes of silence.

“Roger,” he replied. The navigation computer smoothly yawed and rolled the ship to a precise point in space. He felt gravity pulse around him, the points of the stars lengthened into lines, and they were away.

“Debriefing in the common room,” announced Hera.

“Didn't we already debrief?” he sighed. “I don't have to write a report, do I?” He saw her walk beneath him on her way aft, not even sparing him a glance. Chopper was right behind her, bleeping excitedly about Kanan being in trouble.

Hera turned on Chopper. “He's not in trouble,” she said. “We were just having a discussion. About how important it is to follow the plan. Get back forward, Chop. I need you at the helm.”

“Bwurdadda blu fwurgga,” replied Chopper, sad to miss his mistress put this interloper in his place. “Bluh bwai godda bluh bwengpwahda” he continued, but wheeled forward to the cockpit nonetheless. Kanan came down the ladder and went to the common room.

As he came in from the hallway, Hera came in from the galley, sat down, and took a long drink from a water bottle. She looked a little tired now that the adrenaline had worn off. He stepped past her to grab a glass of water for himself, and then returned and sat down.

“Ok, so why the graffiti?” she asked calmly, conversationally.

“It got the sentries over there to investigate. Imps hate anything that disturbs their front of being all-powerful, all-perfect.”

 “True,” she nodded. “But,” and here she looked at him with a smile, brows raised, “'Empire Go Home?'”

 “It had to look local,” he reasoned. “You've said it before: for any resistance to grow, it needs to be grassroots. They won't have any idea this was done by someone from off-world.”

 She looked at him and nodded, obviously surprised, and took a drink. When she first met him, of course, it seemed like he never took anything seriously. That had all changed pretty fast, though—most likely the day he ran out of alcohol in his cabin. Time and time again, over the last few weeks, it became clear that he was _listening_ to her. If he was just doing it to get into her flight suit, he was in it for a longer haul than she'd initially suspected. And her aversion to that possibility was weakening. Especially at times like this, as he was now removing the breastplate of the armor, revealing the tight, black, high-necked garment underneath.

 “It's certainly nice that you have a trooper outfit that ... that fits. Fits so well,” she added, clearing her throat. “I mean, that seems to be made for someone your height,” she added. Kriff. Did he catch that?

 “Yeah,” he said, slipping an index finger down into the collar. “This black suit is a little tight in some places, though,” he said, without any sign that there was any double meaning to his words. If he was hamming it up, she was not going to let him have the satisfaction of seeing her uncomfortable.

 “I just wish you didn't take so many chances,” she said, changing the subject.

He chuckled. “Hera, you leave so much margin for error … with the way you can fly, and your planning, the only doubt there ever is is just how much you'll let me get away with before we have to go home,” he grinned as he took off his vambraces. “You were born and bred planning operations like this, weren't you?”

He looked over at her as his left hand felt for the strap under the right pauldron; she seemed to be ruminating on something, and his grin faded. “I'm just saying,” he added, in case he'd misstepped again, “you're destined for something more than stealing a couple crates of Imperial rations.”

She nodded absently. “Let's go up and see what we got, before you're completely naked,” she finally said drily, getting up and going over to the ladder. Kanan had just finished unstrapping the rerebraces and pauldrons. He set them on the table and followed after her.

“The manifest just said they were 'Imperial Rations,'” he said, taking a longing look at her backside swaying right and left as she ascended the ladder. “I knew you'd be overjoyed . . .”

“That wasn't what they were supposed to be,” she said, somewhat unhappily. “Honest.” She climbed back into the Phantom, and he followed her. He grabbed the large bag that contained his clothes and blaster, picked up the E-11, and discharged the power cell so that it was unloaded. He tossed them both in the bag and watched Hera.

She opened up the first crate. Sure enough, it was packed with Imperial Rations in the Standard Packing Configuration. Well, at least they wouldn't starve, she thought as she made a frustrated grumble in the back of her throat. She opened the second and looked in, and then a smile spread across her face.

Kanan watched her face light up. Her usual smirk spread into a real smile as she looked over at him, her eyes twinkling. He tore his eyes from her and looked down into the crate. It was filled with fresh fruits, vegetables, oil, and … was it? Yes! “Cheese!” he exclaimed. “How did you … ?” he started, incredulous. “I mean, according to their _own records_ these were supposed to be standard rations!” he looked back to her.

“I do my homework,” she said, shrugging. It was her turn to grin.

It took him a few moments to realize something else. He waggled an index finger at her. “You did this … you planned this … because of what I said that other day?” She just kept grinning. He shook his head and looked down at the floor. “All right, what do you want for supper?” he asked, looking back up at her.

“A nap,” she said, exhaling. “I think we could each take a watch below to freshen up, and then have supper. Or breakfast.”

“That's fair,” he said, realizing how long it'd been since they first went out.

“I'll take the first watch,” they both said, at the same time. Kanan gave a short laugh; Hera glanced over at the side of the ship.

“Yeah, you should take the first one,” Kanan said after a second. “Then I'll get things ready while you sleep, and we can have breakfast when you wake up.”

“Sounds like a deal,” she said, nodding. Kanan slung the bag over his shoulder and made his way out of the Phantom while Hera sealed up the crates again. They wouldn't be able to pull the crates through to the Ghost, so they would just have to be stored here, 'upstairs,' until their next trip planetside.

Kanan climbed down the ladder, collected the pieces of stormtrooper armor from the dejarik table, and went into his cabin. He was more relaxed and content than he had been in years. They had real food, and, as far as he was concerned, he had a date with Hera in eight hours. But he was aware that his body and mind could use a break. He finished taking off the armor and left it in a pile on the floor for the time being. He ducked into his bunk and lay down, asleep within moments.

After Kanan had gone down the ladder, Hera allowed her full smile to come back. She was self-conscious about showing her teeth when she smiled, but she couldn't hold it in, tonight. The mission had gone well. It seemed like every detour they took ended up being for the better, as long as Kanan was part of the detour.

She went down the ladder after she heard him go into his cabin, and went forward to relieve Chopper. The droid had been on call for a long time, too, and she told him that she had the ship while he took care of his regular self-maintenance and backups. She promised him an oil bath in a half hour, and began systematically looking over the various control panels in the cockpit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to @gondalsqueen for the beta.
> 
> NB Kanan desperately hopes Sabine never finds out about the day he spray-painted “Empire Go Home” on a wall in Leritor, back in his early twenties. She hasn't yet – unless someone wants to write the scene :)


	7. Day Forty-Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... in which Hera and Kanan have brunch.

Kanan woke slightly before the watch change. His body was getting used to sleeping in increments of four hours. At 0800 Standard Time Hera rapped on his door three times, as usual, and waited. When he opened it, she told him the situation at the helm: they were in deep space, engines full stop. Report any contact to her immediately. Make no course corrections and fire no engines. He hoped by now she knew he wouldn't fly around without her say-so, but he just nodded. Hera had to be the most by-the-book rebel in history. “A'ight Captain,” he said when she was finished. They were both groggy: Kanan from just having woken, Hera about to fall asleep on her feet. She turned around and went into her room, just across from his. He padded to the galley to start some caff.

Later, he checked out the situation at the helm; everything was as it should be, and nothing new had been logged since her watch ended. Chopper was in a more agreeable mood than usual, and smelled of fresh oil. He made a mental note to ask Hera what she had done.

He headed down the hallway past the cabins again, sensing that Hera was in a deep state of unconsciousness. Kanan was very careful about feeling Hera through the Force, however. He knew she was a very private person—which few understood like he did—and nothing would be more unforgivable than an invasion of her mind.

He spent most of his watch taking the food out of the crates in the Phantom and lowering it in a sling to the main floor. It was handier to have it in the galley. The rations didn't all fit in the cabinets; some were going to have to stay in the staging area upstairs. He prioritized the fresh food and got most of it into the cooling unit. The jogans and tubers could stay at room temperature for a while, so he left them on the counter.

He watched a little bit of the news. Most of it was Imperial garbage, of course, but Hera had showed him where to find a few real news stations that hadn't been silenced yet.

At about 1130 he started prepping for the meal, which he guessed they should probably should just call lunch. He was hoping that she would like what he considered comfort food. First, he needed bread. Hera did not have a loaf pan, so he settled for making it in a round pot, stirring the polystarch in with a measure of water. When it had expanded, he popped out the loaf, which was shaped like a cylinder. He cut it in half top to bottom, sliced it into half-circle slices, and then cut cheese to go between. Using some of the new oil, he then started toasting the sandwiches over the range. While they toasted, he prepared some shef'na fruits and cut up some gapangas into a simple fruit salad. At 1155 he started a fresh pot of caff.

Hera's door slid open at 1200, and she came out fully dressed, as always. She went to the 'fresher, her eyes three-quarters closed. After a few minutes, she came out again and headed into the galley, looking more awake.

“Grilled cheese and fruit ok?” he asked her, handing her a mug of freshly-brewed caff.

“Sure, smells good,” she smiled, gratefully taking the cup. She took the bowl of fruit out to the table.

He put four sandwiches on a plate, grabbed a plate and fork for each of them, and put them on the table. Then he grabbed a cup of caff for himself and sat down.

“This is very nice,” she said as she put one of the sandwiches on her plate and spooned up some fruit salad. “I appreciate it.” She'd been thinking about the coming conversation for a while, and wanted him to feel comfortable.

“Nah,” he said dismissively, “I would've made food for myself anyway. Not a big deal to make more.”

She supposed it wasn't, for him. She resisted the urge to take out her datapad to see if anything had happened in the last four hours. Instead, she just ate with him in companionable silence. Without anything else to do, she had soon inhaled one sandwich and took another. She glanced over at Kanan, and he was looking at her serenely. All right; time to talk.

“So you think we can be pulling bigger jobs, huh?” she asked.

He considered for a moment, then said, “It's up to you, of course. But yes, we could definitely bite off more at a time. Once you're convinced I'm not a liability,” he smiled.

“I know you're not a liability,” she said. “All right, how do you feel about the slave trade?”

He looked at her, a brow raised. “It's awful? Is there another answer to that question?”

“Well, some people are obviously fine with it. The Jedi didn't stop it,” she said pointedly, looking at him. Would he defend them? Himself?

Somewhat to her disappointment, he remained serene. He considered another moment, and asked, “Do you think they could have ended the slave trade, and chose not to?”

Hrmph. Every question just got her another question in return. “I know they could do great things. If they put their minds to it, they could have, yes,” she said. She had been convinced of this since she was a child.

“It's a big galaxy, Hera,” he said, simply. “Stamping out every evil was a big task even for the Jedi.”

“Obviously,” she said, surprised at the bitterness with which she answered. Perhaps she harbored more anger about this than she has been aware of.

“But,” he continued, between bites, “you wouldn't be the first to question their motives. After all, they say the Jedi betrayed the Republic.” He said it so conversationally. If he were a Jedi, there's no way he could say that with a straight face, could he?

Hera rolled her eyes. “No one believes that bantha fodder,” she said. “Perhaps that's what the official history will say, but anyone that was alive during the War will know the truth. Until the Empire kills all of us, too. I knew the Jedi.”

That got his interest. “You did?” he said, brows raised.

“Well,” she hedged. “I met them. Saw them—saw how they acted. They were fearless in battle, but when it was over, it seemed like they regretted fighting at all. They took an entire day for mourning afterward, for the lost clones, and for my people.” At this, she looked directly at Kanan, but he was looking down at the table, as though he were studying the fruit salad, his face neutral. Very neutral.

“Do you think there are any left?” she asked, when she had judged a sufficient amount of time had passed. It was an honest question; Kanan aside, she wondered if he thought there were others.

She waited a long time, but he didn't answer, so she said, “If there were, this is how we'd find them. They would be the ones in the shadows, working to bring down the Empire. I'm sure of it.”

He was still quiet, but nodded a few times. The ship was completely silent except for the life support system. Every few minutes a faint hum indicated that the auxiliary power unit had clicked on, far below and aft.

“Will you ever tell me anything about yourself?” she asked, finally. She smiled weakly with a self-deprecating chuckle, tossing one of her hands up and out. “That was the point of this whole conversation. I was trying to get you talking.”

He looked up at her, and his eyes were … well, they were gazing at her, wide and maybe a little wet. His mouth was still in a half-smile. She felt like an awkward teen, and her cheeks felt a little warm. She hoped it didn't show. “ _What_ would you like to know?” he asked.

“Are you a Jedi?” she said, without thought. It was the opening she had been waiting for.

“ _Why_ would you like to know?” he asked, simply.

“Because . . .” Kriff! She had never gotten this far! Why _did_ she want to know? “Well, planning, for one thing. I mean, can we make plans that call for you to jump four stories straight up? Can you block laser blasts? Do you have a lightsaber?”

Kanan sighed. “All right, look: imagine I'm a Jedi. I have a lightsaber. We go out on a job, I start flashing that thing around, and guess what happens when word gets out?” He leaned forward, toward her.

“The Empire hunts us down,” she said, like a schoolchild reciting a lesson.

“Right. And guess what happens to anyone that _knows_ me?”

“The Empire hunts them down,” she said with irritation. She knew where this was going.

“Exactly. And when the Empire has questions for people, maybe about me, they don't ask nicely.” He looked at her meaningfully.

“Ok, now keep imagining you're a Jedi,” she said, looking back at him. He backed off slightly, his eyes narrowing, but she had his attention. “Imagine you never use your Jedi powers again, and never attract the Empire's attention.”

He nodded, but from the way his mouth was pulled to one side, it was clear this was no longer going where he wanted it to.

“You've just saved the Empire the trouble of even having to eliminate you, haven't you?”

He opened his mouth to retort, but she kept going.

“Now imagine I never met you. The Empire catches me. Do you know what happens when Twi'lek girls fall into the hands of basically _anyone?_ ” She looked at him meaningfully.

She saw the realization spread across his face. It was subtle, but his eyes widened slightly, and he set his jaw. He was maybe a little self-involved, but she didn't blame him for not seeing things from her point of view. Most sentients didn't like to think about this too much. “I live on the run every day,” she said, deadly serious. “Because I've got these,” she tossed her lekku, “and _these_ ,” she said, putting a hand over each breast. He glanced away. “The next time we touch down, you could just pick up a comm. The slavers would have me in binders within an hour, and you'd have enough credits to keep yourself drunk the rest of your life,” she said.

“Ok, I get it,” he said, quietly, still looking away.

“I trust you with _more_ than my life,” she said. “Because if you ever betrayed me, death is the _best_ thing I could hope for.” And that was all she had to say. It felt very awkward being in the room with him now, but she wouldn't let herself leave. She wasn't going to storm off because she wasn't mad at him. She was mad at the universe. In fact, he was the only person she'd met so far that could really help her take the fight to the Empire—or the slavers.

He turned his head back, looking down at his plate. He tore off a bit of sandwich with his fingers and put it in his mouth, chewing mechanically. She just looked at him—well, at the top of his head, mostly. Had she totally blown it? She willed him to look up, wished she could read his mind. Was he reading hers?

Eventually he did look up. “So … you want me off the ship?” he asked, brow raised.

“What? No!” she said. Obviously he was _not_ reading her mind! “I just got done telling you how much I trust you! Why would I want that?”

“Oh. That, uh . . . that isn't quite how it sounded from this side.”

“That was the gist,” she chuckled darkly.

Another pause. He finished his sandwich.

“Well, I don't mind busting the heads of some slavers, if that's what you've got in mind. But I'm not up for doing anything that would attract special attention to us, if you know what I mean.”

“I think I do,” she said, nodding, with a small smile.

“Another sandwich?” he asked.

“Sure, but only if you were going to make another one for yourself,” she said, grateful for the normalcy of the question.

He headed back into the galley. “You'll have to tell me what you said or did to Chopper,” he said from there. “He was a pretty agreeable companion for the last few hours. Did you grease him up?”  
  
“Oil bath, yes,” she replied between bites of fruit salad. “If you're thinking you'll be sticking around on the Ghost for awhile, I could show you,” she teased.

“Sounds like something I should learn how to do properly,” Kanan said. A sizzling sound indicated that he'd just put more sandwiches on the pan. “I think he may have to get used to me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to @gondalsqueen for her great beta and suggestions :)


	8. Day Fifty-Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... in which Kanan and Hera's mission doesn't go as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to @Gondalsqueen for her continuing beta :)
> 
> A week in Star Wars is five days in some sources, and seven in others. I have written this series with a 5-day week in mind.

 

They had spent weeks gathering intel and planning. Hera was pretty tight-lipped with the information, as always, but she did give Kanan updates when it came to mission planning. He seemed to have personal experience with a pretty wide variety of species and a keen knowledge of the nuts and bolts of the underworld. Much like Zaluna, Hera had seen and heard a lot through the networks, but Kanan had spent a lot of time in the cantinas where the business actually took place.

The slavers themselves were not hard to find. After all, the Empire now openly sold slaver permits. But what Hera wanted to find—and Kanan agreed—was a way to catch them in small numbers, in space, and preferably off a main trade route. That meant finding their secret, out-of-the-way rendezvous points (the same kinds of points Kanan and Hera used) and hopefully catching them in the act of transferring “cargo.”

And so it was that Kanan found himself in one of the rougher cantinas on Tibrin, and he didn't even need a disguise. His part was easy: he just had to be himself. He sauntered in, wearing his old duster and his DL-10 strapped to his thigh. Sentients looked at him as he entered, but by the time he'd gotten to the bar most of them paid no more attention to him than a piece of furniture.

“Double pulkay,” he said to the bartender, pulling up a stool and stretching his legs.

“Rough day?” growled the barkeep, a Devaronian, as he slid the tall, narrow glass of clear liquid to Kanan. “Five,” he said, holding up the five fingers, in case Kanan hadn't heard in the din.

“Nah, pretty regular day,” chuckled Kanan as he laid six credits on the bar for the barkeep. The Devaronian took his credits and quickly moved to his next patron. Kanan looked down the bar; most of the other patrons were quietly nursing drinks, watching one of the two big holoprojectors behind the bar. He scanned the crowd around him while he took a gulp of the liquor. He scrunched up his eyes and made a grimace as it went down. “Ahhhhhh.” He turned around to the bartender and gave him a thumbs up. “Lots of water on your planet, but none in my drink. Just what I like!”

The bartender nodded with a grunt, wiping down the bar. Nobody liked a talker, Kanan knew, but you could count on the server to at least be civil until you stopped buying booze. He felt the comforting warmth of the pulkay spread through his belly. He took another drink, just a sip this time, and went back to gazing around the room. Most of the patrons of the cantina did not have an easy conscience and avoided his gaze. He knew better than to press it, though. He was honestly just enjoying the atmosphere; it'd been a while. Then he caught a glimpse of a threesome at a booth to his left.

“Holy shit, would you look at _that,_ ” he said, scratching his goatee. “Mmmmm damn! Where can you get a girl like that around here?” He nodded in the direction of the booth; he wasn't sure if anyone around him was listening, but the show would go on either way. “Wonder if those guys would let me have a turn,” he said as if to himself, but for everyone else's benefit. He finished the second half of his shot, made the same grimace/smile and turned back around to set it down on the bar.

Suddenly he sensed a hand moving toward him from his right. He swiveled in that direction and caught the wrist of someone with his left hand at the same time his right reached down to rest on the handle of his blaster. The owner of the wrist was a Mirialan male, dressed like a bounty hunter or guard, but with incongruously kind eyes.

“Touchy fella, aren't you?” said the man with a smile. Kanan let go of his wrist, putting up his hand palm-forward in peace.

“Sorry, man. Yeah, I guess so,” said Kanan with a grin.

“I was just going to tell you it might be wiser to keep your comments to yourself,” said the Mirialan. “Those two,” he said, nodding subtly in the direction of the table, “are probably taking the Twi'lek girl home, if you know what I mean. And they don't like to share.”

“Bastards,” said Kanan, and he meant it. “What's left for guys like me?” he smiled.

The Mirialan smiled at him oddly. “I reckon you do all right. That one,” again a nod at the far table, “ain't much for a Twi'lek girl, anyway. How many of those have you had?” he said, gesturing to the empty shot glass.

“Not enough,” said Kanan, and ordered another double pulkay. This drink was just for show; Hera would either have the information or not within a few minutes.

“I'm Jorrik, by the way,” said the Mirialan, holding out a hand to shake.

“Kaz,” said Kanan, shaking his hand.

“Well Kaz, there's a place up the street with some dancing girls, if you've got some credits,” said Jorrik. “Do you play sabacc?”

“Naaah,” said Kanan. It was time to shake this punter. “I'm probably better off alone.”

“Suit yourself,” said Jorrik amiably. He was holding a glass of lum, and after Kanan shrugged him off, he headed back into one of the booths. Kanan nursed his new drink and kept his eyes forward, pretending to take the advice of the Mirialan, but he was reaching out with the Force.

No one in this room was giving him a second thought, now. In less than a quarter of an hour, he had shown that he was not an easy target, but also happy to mind his own business—just the kind of guy this crowd felt comfortable with. Hera was talking to two slavers at that booth, another Twi'lek and a human, both male. It took a special kind of scum to sell your own people, Kanan thought, and Hera knew it well.

She was pretending to be tracking down her little sister, who had been sold. She was offering to buy back her sister outright, and was willing to make it look like the slavers were boarded, if they wanted to put on a good show. That was the plan, anyway; Kanan couldn't hear exactly what they were discussing from here. Any minute now, either they'd take the deal or not . . .

And then he started to feel something weird from Hera. She was … happy … loose. And only with Hera would that feeling make Kanan immediately uneasy. He glanced sideways over at her table as he pretended to take a shot of his drink, tossing back his head but blocking most of it with his tongue.

Hera and the slavers had gotten up and were headed for the stairs in the back. She was smiling an open-mouthed smile, not her usual smirk—another red flag—and she seemed to be having a little trouble walking, although the other Twi'lek helped her along. They went past a Trandoshan that seemed to be acting as a bouncer at the foot of the stairs, and went up.

Kanan waited until they were out of sight, upstairs. Then he set down his drink, left a couple credits on the bar, and made his way over to the bottom of the stairs. The guard leveled his weapon at Kanan while he was still ten feet from the foot of the stairs.

“Aw, man, that girl was something else!” said Kanan, gesturing up the stairs as he quickly covered the distance between himself and the Trandoshan.

“Back offfff,” hissed the guard. “Private party.”

“I was just hoping,” said Kanan, lowering the volume of his voice now that he was closer, “that you will let me pass.” He lifted his right hand and made a small motion with it, and then simply rubbed the side of his nose.

The Trandoshan looked back at him, his reptilian eyes confused, but said nothing.

“I said, you want to let me go upstairs,” said Kanan again, softly, making the same motion with his index and middle fingers together, before tucking a strand of loose hair back behind his ear.

“I want to let you go upstairsssss,” said the guard.

“Aww, thanks buddy, you're the best! This means a lot to me” said Kanan cheerily as he hopped up the stairs. They led up to a medium-length hallway with several doors along its length on either side. Kanan easily found the correct door by feeling for Hera, and stood outside it for a moment, listening. There were four on the other side of the door; Hera was alone in an adjoining room, thank the Force.

“That's fine,” a male voice behind the door was saying, with a Ryloth accent, “but be careful. You damage her, you don't get paid . . .”

That was all Kanan needed to hear. He used the Force to unlock the door manually, and slid it open. The four people just inside were very surprised to see him.

“You didn't lock the . . .?” one of them started to accuse another.

“Guys!” said Kanan, affably, with a big smile on his face. “Are you guys having a party? Hey, mind if I crash it? I'll totally pay the cover, I just gotta see that girl . . .” He put his arms around the shoulders of the two closest men, two humans, as though they were great buddies. All four of them went from tense to disgusted with their new visitor as the doors slid shut behind him.

As soon as the doors touched closed, Kanan brought his arms together as he brought his hands up to the heads of his new friends. He cracked their skulls together as hard as he could, pivoted, and then pushed the two men onto the Twi'lek. The fourth person, the human he had seen downstairs, was already pretty drunk and took too long to get his blaster out. Kanan clipped the man's wrist with his left hand, hoping to crack it, while drawing his own blaster in one fluid motion. The Twi'lek had just recovered his balance and gotten out from under the first two men when Kanan hit him with a stun blast. Then Kanan turned and stunned the now disarmed drunk. Then he pointed his gun to the two men that had fallen to the ground, holding their heads. Stun. Stun.

Kanan holstered his gun, locked the door from the inside, and hanged the passcode.

“Hey? Hey guys? You said there's a parrrrty” said Hera from the next room, her voice slurred.

Kanan strode into the room, searching it. She was lying on an old bed, fully dressed as always—he hadn't intended to allow them even a moment with her.

“Kanan!” she said loudly, looking up from the bed. “Oh that's so great! They said they had a surprise, 'n' I di'n't realize _you_ were comin'” She smiled broadly but drowsily.

“Shhhh,” he said quickly, putting his index finger to her lips. “I'll be right with you, Hera. I just need you to wait for just a . . . oh kriff ...” he trailed off, involuntarily making a small grunt in the back of his throat.

Hera had slipped her tongue out to one side of the index finger he was using to shush her. She began slowly running her tongue up and down his finger, looking up at him with a smile and heavy-lidded green eyes.

Hit with arousal and revulsion at the same time, he pulled away his finger as if he'd burned it. “I just have to see how the guys over here are doing, ok?” he said to her.

He went back into the other room, patting down all four of them as fast as he could. He pulled out credits and jammed them into his pockets. After patting down the vest of one, he pulled out two data tapes and pocketed them. He looked over their weapons and helped himself to a blaster rifle. He ejected its clip and put it in one of the pockets of his duster. He found Hera's Blurrg on the stunned Twi'lek and headed back to her.

“All right, you're doing great,” he told her, trying to keep her quiet. He put on the safety of her pistol and slipped it back into her ankle holster. Then he gave her the empty blaster rifle to hold.

“Thanks, Kanan,” she said, still smiling up at him. “So what's … what're we …” she struggled to find words and looked down at the rifle.

“Can you hang onto this rifle for me? Don't worry, it's not loaded.”

A knocking came from the door.

“Oh!” gasped Hera as Kanan scooped her up into his arms and made his way to the window. It was a little drop, but they'd be fine. Luckily, on this planet of beaches there was apparently no need for glass or transparisteel in the windows. Kanan simply opened the shutters. As he heard a pounding at the door behind him, he jumped down.

He faltered slightly on landing, but didn't drop Hera.

“Wheee!” she said, laughing.

“No no no no no!” he hissed rapidly, “You still have to be quiet, Hera. Shhhh. I promise just a little while longer, ok?”

She nodded, looking at him expectantly.

He quickly carried her around the corner of a nearby building, so they were out of sight of the cantina. When he had put a few blocks behind them, he put her on her feet. She could walk with his assistance, and he took the blaster from her and slipped it under his coat.

“Almost there,” he whispered to her. As they walked, trying to blend in, he became aware of how much her Twi'lek-ness made her stand out. He felt like everyone looked at them with some interest, even though the two of them could've passed for any couple going anywhere, otherwise. He began to understand how conspicuous she felt when she was planetside. She certainly wasn't acting like she felt conspicuous tonight, though.

She was doing what he asked, though; he figured that whatever drug the slavers used, it probably helped to make her compliant. He got them to the spaceport where they had left the Ghost and paid the automated teller for the pad. As soon as he got near the ship, the ramp came down.

“Hey, I know this ship . . .Oh!” she started. He scooped her into his arms again, and ran up the ramp with her.

“Stupid ladders,” he said when they got to the base of the one that went up to the landing. She just giggled. “Get us outa here, Chopper,” Kanan said over the comm. He heard the engines power up as he put Hera down in front of the ladder.

“Can you climb?”

“'Course I can climb a ladder, Kanan … sheesh,” she said, rolling her eyes. She went up one rung, and then another. Then she turned to look back at him, letting go with her hand, and she fell back down into Kanan's arms. “I don' know what happened,” she said, looking confused.

“We'll just go up together,” he said. He slung her halfway over his shoulder, and then started up the ladder. Every couple of rungs he would re-balance her boots on the next rung upward.

“Bweh muh muahwawa bwa bwa,” asked Chopper over the comms.

Great … how was he going to explain this? “Just take us to one of the safe locations . . . Hera's not . . . well, you'll see when we get up there. Somewhere close, somewhere hidden. We'll need a place to hunker down for a day or so. . .”

“Meh whaddada weh wha bwah whah,” replied Chopper.

“Oh Chopper,” said Hera with a smile, her eyes glazed. She lifted her feet off the rung she was on, clearly unaware that Kanan was the only thing keeping her from falling to the deck below. “Kanan's tooootally right. I mean … overrrrrreacting. I jus' had … maybe too much to drink?” She tried to look back at Kanan, but he kept her from shifting too far forward with the arm that was around her waist.

“Just a little further,” he said. When she got to the landing, he led her forward to the nose turret, so she didn't have to do any more ladder work. Then he boosted her up and aft, sliding her under the instrument panel in the cockpit on her side. She just rolled over and lay on her back on the floor of the cockpit, looking up.

Chopper released a string of angry binary as Kanan lifted himself up and under the co-pilot's panel, and got to his feet in the cockpit.

“It's not my fault, Chopper!” he said, holding up his hands. “Look, I'm trying to fix things. I'll explain everything—we'll explain everything.”

Hera just smiled. “Relax, Chop. Kanan's the greaaaaaatessst.” she said.

Kanan was afraid she was getting worse. “Chopper, can you scan her blood? Er … circulatory fluid?”

Chopper was all business, now, seeing the state of his mistress. “Bwahap badamwah muah fup!” he replied.

“Yeah, I know, I know,” said Kanan. “I just thought maybe that was something you could do. All right, you gotta get us out of here, then, ok? I need to get her to her bunk and get the medkit. She's been drugged. You have the helm.” With that, Kanan slipped his arms under Hera's armpits and lifted her up, half dragging her to her cabin. Chopper was already plugged in to the terminal, and locked down his struts. Kanan was pretty sure that the droid wouldn't mess around when Hera was in real trouble.

“All right,” Kanan said to Hera. “Let's just get you lying down. . .” He did feel that entering her cabin would be an invasion of her privacy, but the other cabins were filled with junk, and the curving booth around the dejarik table was not what an ailing woman needed. So he took her to her bunk.

As they went through the door, Kanan tried to keep his eyes straight ahead, but he couldn't fail to notice that her cabin contained a bank of communications equipment on the forward side. Most of her personal effects were on the aft wall. He saw clothes out of the corner of his eye, and some tool boxes, and then he was laying her down gently into her bunk.

“Finally,” Hera said with a smile.

“Yes, finally,” agreed Kanan, firmly. “Ok, I have to run and get something—I'm afraid you might be a little sick, so I just need you to wait here. I'll be right back, ok?”

“Again? More waiting …?” she said. “Come on, I just want you here now . . .” she said, squirming on the bed. When he realized she was rubbing her thighs together, he quickly turned away. He jogged out of her cabin and went into the port aft cabin, where they stored the medical supplies. He hoped there was something to sedate her immediately; he know she'd hate herself if she remembered any of this night, any of what she'd said. He grabbed the scanning kit and a datapad, and also the first aid kit. As he came back into the hallway he felt the ship make the jump into hyperspace.

Back in her cabin, he knelt down by her bunk and opened the scanning device. He gently took her left arm, the one closest to him, and scanned it.

“Do I have something bad?” she asked, now starting to get a little worried.

“I'm sure you'll be fine,” he said, trying to reassure her.

“Want me to take this off?” she asked, her hand moving toward the button holding the neck of her shirt closed, the button he had already spent a lot of time thinking about in the past couple months.

“No!” he said, perhaps a bit too suddenly. She jumped, looking afraid, as he caught her gloved hand. “I mean, it's important you stay warm. Sorry. Just to be safe. . .” In the meantime the scanner had come up with the intoxicant in her blood: amfecton. He quickly transferred it to the datapad and began skimming the Medibase file for “Amfecton: Twi'lek.”

_Amfecton … widely used by sexual assailants . . . slavers . . . reduces the subject's inhibitions and makes the subject very impressionable to commands by others . . ._ yeah yeah yeah, he'd figured that part out already . . . _Treatment: subject will recover given time; the lethal dose is quite high at 1mg/mL_. . . he checked the level the scanner had come up with: 150ng/mL.

“Thank the Force,” he said with a sigh.

“Kanan, are you ok now?” she asked. She looked at his face with worry. She was still shifting her legs against one another in the bed, but seemed to be unaware she was doing it.

He nodded, turning back to the datapad. _Treatment: subject will recover_. . . yeah, got that . . . how do I treat . . . _after a period of euphoria, the side-effects can be severe . . . a Twi'lek subject should be allowed to vomit once to eliminate undigested toxin. After, anti-nausea, pain-relievers and rehydraters will speed recovery. If possible, the subject should sleep to avoid experiencing the aftereffects._ Using the blood scan data, the computer told him that she would be back to normal in about twenty hours.

“Will you lie down, now?” she asked him, invitingly. She shifted toward the wall to make a space for him in the bunk.

He looked back at her. He wasn't sure how best to get her to sleep. If she could fall asleep during the euphoric phase, she might be able to just sleep the drug off completely. He sat down on the edge of her bed, wanting very much to lie down with her and hold her close. But this was not that time.

“Hera, I'm sorry, but it looks like you may have had something that made you a little sick. So you need to keep all your clothes on, to stay warm, and I think it would be best if you got some rest. Can you just get some rest for a little bit? I will be right here on the Ghost. We're safe in deep space, now.”

“Sure, that sounds nice,” she said, smiling. Then she yawned. “You're always looking out for me, love.” She lay in the bed, looking up at him with her beautiful green eyes, lids half-closed. He closed his own eyes and leaned his head against the side of the bunk, physically maintaining his distance from her.

Whether it was because she was especially susceptible to suggestion, or simply because she was tired, he heard her breathing change pace, and he felt her slip into unconsciousness within a few minutes. When he was sure she had been asleep for fifteen minutes or so, he quietly got up and made his way out of her cabin, finally giving her the privacy he had so desperately wanted to give her. He was afraid that she would never look him in the eye again, after this, and he was afraid that would be enough to make her kick him off the ship.

When he got to the cockpit, Chopper was waiting for him with his electrode.

“Bwah frugga brugga mwah mwoh frah bwah!” he threatened, spinning his top around in a complete circle.

“Chopper, just let me explain, buddy,” said Kanan wearily. He ignored the electrode and took off his duster, draping it over the back of the co-pilot's seat. Then he slumped down into it, swiveling it around to face Chopper. “You know what the mission was,” he started, and then explained everything that had happened. When he got to the drug, he just explained that it messed with her wiring, making her think she liked Kanan more than she actually did.

“You know, I'm not trying to take her from you, Chopper,” he said, finally. “I know how important she is to you. According to the Medibase, she should be back to full functioning in twenty hours.”

“Vweer Mwueer!” responded Chopper, seemingly out of nowhere. And then they dropped out of hyperspace. They were in front of a gas giant with a significant ring system. After another terse exchange of words and beeps, Chopper ceded control of the ship to Kanan, and from the co-pilot's chair he guided the Ghost toward the ring system.

He maneuvered into the debris field that formed the rings, found a nice pocket between boulders, and matched their orbital velocity. Within ten minutes they were just another floating chunk that made up the planet's rings, and it seemed that this system was otherwise deserted. He got up from the chair and grabbed his coat and the new blaster rifle. He felt through the pockets of the duster and gave Chopper the two data tapes.

“Chopper, you want to put these into the main computer? Hera'll want to see them as soon as she's better.”

Chopper tittered his approval and took the tapes, one in each manipulator.

Kanan made his way back to the common room, sensing if Hera was still asleep. She was. He emptied the credits out of his pockets and put them on the table, along with the blaster. He grabbed himself a ration bar from the galley, and went back into his cabin. He set the door to stay open, so he could watch her door across the hallway. He hung up his coat and changed into his loose-fitting pants and undershirt, and lay down in his bunk. He grabbed a datapad from the floor by his head, checked out all the ship's systems, and then lay back and closed his eyes.

 


	9. Day Fifty-Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... in which Kanan and Hera deal with what happened yesterday.

He woke from a light nap to the sound of Hera's cabin doors opening, and glanced over just in time to see the tips of her lekku as she disappeared aft. He got up, grabbed the datapad and followed after, staying out of sight until she had gone into the 'fresher. He stood by the door and listened to her vomit, his brows creased with worry.

“I'm right here,” he said gently, when there was a break.

“What . . . is . . . happening . . .to me?” she sobbed, from the other side of the door.

“It's the aftereffects of the drug they used on you. You're going to be all right. Medibase said that you should vomit it up if you could, and now I can . . . give you some meds for the pain and nausea.”

He heard the toilet evacuate, and the sink run. Then the 'fresher opened. He stood to the side, offering her an arm in case she needed it to steady herself. Kanan would never admit it, but she looked pretty rough. She was a very pale green, and tears had obviously been streaming down her cheeks. She didn't take his arm, but started back to her cabin.

He offered her the datapad. “Here's the file on Amfecton. That's what they used.”

She took the pad and scanned the file, shuffling toward the port aft cabin.

“I put the stuff you'd need right by your bunk already,” he offered.

She nodded slowly, and changed her course back to her own room. As she opened the doors and went in, he stopped at the threshold. “Do you want me to . . . ?” he started, and then trailed off, making a small gesture with his arm toward her cabin.

She shook her head, instantly regretted it, and winced. “No,” she said, swallowing dryly, “I'll take it from here. You have the ship,” she said in a gravelly voice, and the doors of her room slid closed.

Kanan let out a long, slow sigh, leaning on the wall next to her cabin. He wanted to take care of her. Was it just to be near her, or because he actually cared? He hoped there was at least some of the latter. But the message from Hera was clear: she was tough. She didn't need his help to recover. He took consolation from the fact that she trusted him with her ship.

He went forward and bargained with Chopper for a couple hours of sleep. What finally made Chopper relent was when Kanan told him that he, Chopper, should really start analyzing the data from the slavers, because the communications and planning were something that the droid and Hera worked on together. Chopper would be a _much_ better judge of what was useful, Kanan reasoned. Having discovered that buttering up Chopper worked nearly as well as oiling him up, Kanan made his way back to his cabin, slipping his hair out of the ponytail before he fell into bed and deep unconsciousness.

He woke after a few hours. She'd expect him to get some kind of sleep tonight, of course, but he didn't want her to catch him dozing—it would be embarrassing, after all she had been through. He hauled himself out of bed and headed to the 'fresher. He showered, cleaned his teeth, and freshened his breath. Hera would still be bedridden, he figured, so he toweled off his hair as he made his way to the galley, shirtless. Little bit of fresh caf, and . . .

“Kanan, ready for debriefing?” he heard her say over the comm in a strained voice.

He looked up at the ceiling speaker with a somewhat irritated frown. “Are you sure, Hera? It's hours before Medibase said you'd be recovered.”

“Yeah, uh . . . this debriefing will have to be in my cabin. Because of that.”

“Give me two minutes,” he said, shaking his head. “Just got out of the shower.”

“Roger,” she replied.

He did pour a cup of caf, and then went to his cabin and pulled on a clean undershirt and a pullover. Then he presented himself at her cabin door. He knocked.

“Enter,” she said, somewhat faintly.

He opened the doors and stepped in, still uncomfortable in her cabin. She lay on the bed, covered with a gray blanket. She had been holding one side of her headphones to an earcone with her gloved right hand. As soon as he came in, she set her headphones back down on the bunk, leaving only the gray under-cap that she wore. Her left sleeve was rolled up, revealing to Kanan for the first time not only her left hand, but her left forearm. The reason was clear: she had an anti-nausea patch on the underside of her forearm. She smiled at him weakly as he walked toward her. He squatted down on the floor next to the head of her bunk.

“What happened back there?” she asked.

“I don't know,” said Kanan, shaking his head. “I'm assuming you were watching your drink. I glanced at you when I could, even made a little show of staring at you, but I couldn't risk too much more without people thinking something was up. That crowd can smell a con.” She nodded, and he continued, “Could've been vapor, or a nanojection?” he guessed.

“Well,” she said, looking right at him. “Thank you. Things could've gone very badly for me.”

“Aaah, you wouldn't have taken a risk like that without having backup. The worst is the aftereffects of that drug. Fucking slavers don't give a damn about how you feel after.”

“And embarrassment,” she added.

“Oh, uh … yeah,” he said, looking away. “I know that wasn't … none of that was your idea.” He continued to watch the wall at her feet, while pulling his hair back with his left hand.

“There were two, then? The Twi'lek and the human?”

He cleared his throat. “There were two other humans, actually. And a Trandoshan at the foot of the stairs. Not sure if he was with them, or working for the house.” Having nothing to hold his hair back, he let it fall around his face again, although he tucked the hair on his right side behind his ear so he could see her.

“Five? And you … took care of them?” He inclined his head once in a single nod. “Did you, um . . . did you kill them?”

He glanced ahead, then over at the bunk above her. “No, I . . . I didn't, actually. I didn't need to, to get them out of the way, and I wanted to get you out of there. . .” She was quiet, looking at his face in profile. After a moment of silence, he finally turned to her. “I'm sorry if . . . if you wish I'd killed them,” he said.

She smiled tiredly. “No, of course not,” she said, shaking her head ever so slightly. “The day you need to kill someone to make me happy is the day our relationship has taken a wrong turn.”

“Relationship?” he asked, turning to her with a soft smile. “We have a relationship?”

Not-exhausted Hera would've smirked, but again she could only half-smile. “Do you think I just take up with any old bruiser I meet on a mining planet? For months?”

“No, no . . . I just . . .” He ran out of words, but continued studying her face.

“I mean, there's only so much, of course . . .” she trailed off. She tried again, “There's only so close we . . . because you're . . . Well, you know.” she said.

“Hmm?” he said, suddenly feeling that this conversation was moving too swiftly for him. He was . . . what? Human? Did she say he was old, just a bit ago?

“You know . . .” she said again, with as much of a conspiratorial look as she could manage.

“I . . . don't,” he said, finally, glancing at the wall behind her to take just a slight break from her eyes.

“You know,” she said again. “A Jedi.” This last word she said in a whisper, between her teeth, as if giving Kanan a very important password.

Kanan's eyes opened wide and he turned back to her. “What?” he said. “No, no . . . it's not like that!”

She frowned. Then she spoke, again in a whisper. “But you can't . . . they can't have _attachments_ , right?”

“No, that's not . . . but that's not _me_ ,” Kanan tried to explain. “I'm not like that . . . a . . . Jedi. I mean, if I ever was,” and then his voice dropped to a whisper, too. “If I ever was, I'm not now. There aren't, I mean there can't be . . . the Order is gone.” Then, more firmly, “That's not my path, now … if it ever was,” he hedged at the end.

She looked into his eyes, and then looked over all of him. He looked back at her, waiting tensely for her response. She swallowed. “Oh,” she said.

It didn't seem like a bad “oh,” but Kanan still searched her face to see how she was taking this news.

“Well,” she said at last. And then she reached over with her bare left arm to Kanan. She first glanced his forearm with her fingers, and then traced his arm down to find his hand, which she put in hers. She looked at him. “Thank you. I wouldn't trust anyone else to handle that as well as you did. You were very . . . professional.”

“Of course,” he sort of mumbled.

“So,” she continued, but did not remove her hand. “We're out a couple hundred credits?”

“Oh, no,” he smiled. “We made an ok profit. I got our credits back, and they had a hundred and some change on them, between the four of them. And the blaster; do you remember carrying that? Do you . . . how much do you remember?” he asked, looking slightly worried.

“Oh . . . more of it than I'd care to,” she said. Then she added, quickly, “No, I mean, I didn't mean it like that. I mean, it was awful, but _you_ weren't the awful part. . .”

“I understand,” he said, and squeezed her hand slightly. “'nuff said. Have you ever seen a Deece before? That rifle?” She shook her head. “It's what the kriffing clone commandos carried—an interchangeable weapons system. DC-17m. Even without the attachments it's gotta be worth four grand to an interested party. And I bet you might know an interested party?”

She shrugged, with a smile.

“And I pulled two data tapes off the Twi'lek. Had Chopper put them on the main computer.”

Hera reached over and picked up her datapad from beside her on the bed. She withdrew her hand from Kanan's to better use the datapad. Kanan, sore from squatting, finally just sat down on the floor.

“This is good stuff,” she said after a few minutes. “I can see why it was on tapes and not the holonet. But if we still have the tapes, they're likely to just change all their points and routes. We've got to get those back there, so there's a chance they think they just dropped them in the scuffle. It's a long shot, but it may make them think twice before scrapping all their plans.

“I'm useless,” she said, although she was certainly looking better than she had when they started this conversation. “Can you take the Phantom back there, and get the tapes back into that room—under a rug, or in someone's pocket, or something? Something to make them continue to use the procedures they've got on here?”

“Sure thing,” he replied, getting to his feet. “Shouldn't be any trouble at all.”

“I know you're tired. Tomorrow we'll take the whole day off, ok? You can take an adrenal stim if you want.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “I'm a little tougher than that.”

“Ok, then, but _be careful_. They'll be looking for you, and they'll be _mad_. Just play it safe this one time for me, ok? I want you back.”

“You certainly know how to motivate your crew, Captain Hera,” said Kanan, smiling at her. “I'll be back before you know it. No detours,” he promised.

Hera nodded, smiling, reclined onto her back and closed her eyes. “Thank you,” she said. “All right, you have your orders. Send Chopper in here before you leave.”

He opened his mouth to say something, then reconsidered. “Aye aye,” he said, and left her cabin to go get ready.

 


	10. Day Sixty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... in which Kanan gets a surprise.

The Phantom docked with the Ghost at 1944 Standard Time. Hera told him she was taking the 2000 watch.

(“Are you sure?” he'd asked. “Yes, I'm sure,” she'd said. “I've been lying around here all day. You need rest. Also, I'm the Captain,” she'd said. “Are you just going to pull rank on me, now?” he'd asked. “Only when it's for your own good,” she'd said.)

Now it was about 0130. He was studying the files from the tapes he had stolen, the same tapes that he had then put back last evening. Hera had highlighted some parts for him to read: the policies and procedures. Kriff, even slavers had policies and procedures, now? he thought. What happened to the good old days?

There were lists of signals, visual and audio, code phrases . . .very useful stuff, he was sure, but it did not make for exciting reading. He had started with the datapad in both hands, sitting up. Later he was hunched over. By the time he got to the approach procedures, the proper distance to transfer the “cargo,” and the like, Kanan had his head propped up on one hand and the datapad was resting on the table. And over time his head sunk lower and lower to the table.

His body jumped a little as he woke, suddenly, and he sucked a little saliva back in from the corner of his mouth. He sensed Hera moving just before her door slid open. He looked down groggily at the datapad, then back up at her as she padded into the room. She was headed toward the 'fresher, half-asleep, eyes down and half-closed because of the light in the room. But that wasn't what caught Kanan's attention.

She was not wearing the flight suit.

In fact, she was not wearing _anything_ that he had seen her wear before. Instead of her flight cap, she wore a looser-fitting headscarf that was tied around her head above her forehead, and then trailed down over her lekku. She wore a gray tank-top of smooth material, and then some loose-fitting pants, also gray, of more roughly woven fabric. No gloves. No boots. Bare hands. Bare feet.

Visually, he took this in quickly, of course, and his first reaction was to look down at the table until the 'fresher door was closed. She was dressed pretty modestly by most beings' standards, but for Hera it was very revealing. While she was using the facilities (Were the bulkheads of the Ghost actually made of duranium foil? he asked himself), he at least acted like he was studying the datapad, and kept up the act as she came out and started back toward the cabins.

Seen from behind, the headscarf actually covered her neck and most of her shoulders, so he mostly studied her bare arms. They were smooth and well-muscled, and . . .

“What are you lookin' at?” she asked him. She had turned quickly to look over her shoulder, leaning on her left arm in the doorway. She had a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, having caught him gaping at her. She bit into her lower lip on one side, while he tried to stammer … something.

“Get back to work,” she chided with a sleepy smile. Then she turned and went back into her cabin, the doors swishing behind her.

Kanan sat, grinning at the doors long after they had closed. He'd have never guessed _that_ was how she'd show her level of trust. But now that he thought about it, it made perfect sense. He took a few breaths with a contented smile on his face, enjoying the subtext of what had just happened. Eventually he shook his head, and looked back down at the datapad to learn more about policies and procedures for his Captain.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to @Gondalsqueen for her excellent beta skills, and for the fandom in general for your presence and inspiration!


End file.
